


do not wake love

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 03:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18438173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There will always be a distance between them.If Castiel ever had a purpose, maybe it is this: to bargain, to die and come back again and again, until all that’s left is this. This is the last thing threatening their peace, the last debt left to settle. All it will take is one final death for it to be over for good. This is how they move on to something better.





	do not wake love

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. 
> 
> Apologies in advance for any glaring plot mistakes, I just wanted to write something about Castiel's deal with the Empty. I started this a while ago and it's not very plotty so this can loosely follow up until Alt!Michael's death before everything else gets handwaved

He’s had his wings back for a while now, but Castiel finds that he enjoys driving.

It’s always a straight drive to the next hunt. There’s something comforting about routine, driving from town to town, investigating, hunting, moving on. It’s easier with his powers back, but he’s getting better at things like interviewing witnesses, following leads too. Optimistically, a few of the people he’s talked to so far this year might actually believe he’s an FBI agent.

Some nights, like tonight, he pulls over and rests. It’s a quiet life, being on the road by himself, and sometimes it’s too much, even for him. Castiel looks at his phone. Notifications blare at him; he locks the screen, puts the phone in the cup holder. After a moment, he presses a button on the tape deck before he pushes his seat back, low enough so that he can see the night sky out of the window.

He listens to the beginnings of a quiet guitar riff. In the lull, he can feel a faint pull on his soul. He thinks of the world, orbiting the sun. He is not of this world, but still beholden to its laws; he wonders if it is the same kind of gravity that keeps him tethered to that one point, no matter how much distance he puts between them.

 

-

 

“Hey, sorry I’m late. You know how traffic is.”

Castiel isn’t surprised to see Dean saunter into the coroner’s office, flashing an easy smile along with his FBI badge. He doesn’t bother to look up and accept the pointed glance from Dean that always leaves him feeling guilty. They fall into the routine seamlessly, asking the coroner their questions before taking their leave. The two of them are quiet until they get to the parking lot where Dean, as always, leans his hip against the driver door of Castiel’s car until he finally looks at him.

Castiel shuffles his feet awkwardly on the asphalt. “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean returns evenly. The silence stretches as Dean looks him over, as if trying to figure something out about him. Finally, he says, “So what do you think?”

“Ghost,” Castiel answers absently and Dean nods in agreement, pushing off of Castiel’s car.

“Where are you staying?” Dean sighs when Castiel doesn’t answer. “Cas, you can’t sleep in your car forever.”

“I don’t sleep,” Castiel corrects but, of course, that doesn’t help matters much.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Well, your suit makes you look like you’ve been sleeping in it,” he says snippily. He reaches over and tugs on the lapels of Castiel’s jacket. “It’s _unprofessional_. Witnesses aren’t gonna trust an agent who looks like he’s on a bender.”

“People will give up more information if you seem harmless,” Castiel says defensively, glancing down at Dean’s hands busily smoothing down his tie. 

Dean quirks a grin. “Puppy-dog eyes only get you so far, Cas.” His hands linger for another moment before he pulls away, taking his keys out of his pocket. “C’mon. We’ll take my car to go deal with this ghost. And I know a motel around here that’ll do your dry-cleaning.”

 

-

 

“My car -”

“You’ll get it tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“But -”

Dean shoots him a look and Castiel sighs and doesn’t say anything else. The hunt was simple enough, done in a couple of hours with the two of them, and Dean insisted on driving to the motel straight after. Castiel tries to distract himself from the silence.

“How’s Jack?” He decides to ask.

From the passenger seat, he sees Dean’s jaw tighten. “He’s good.”

Castiel calls Jack, of course, lets him know where he is in case he wants to visit. He had left Jack with Sam and Dean to live in the bunker - he had read that children needed some semblance of stability, something Castiel could not provide while on the road. Sam and Dean would be a better influence on him anyway.

Not that he discussed this with them at any length.

He thinks he’s seen this scenario play out on a TV show before. He knows he should just let this go but he can’t help but say, “He told me you let him drive on the last hunt.”

“Mmhm.”

Castiel is determined in the face of Dean’s stonewalling. “He told me you said he did very well too.”

“He did. You should’ve seen him.”

Finally, Castiel drops the subject and lets the silence settle for the rest of the drive to the motel. Castiel stays in the car while Dean goes in to get a room, watching, looking away when Dean returns. They are quiet on the walk to the room, quiet until Dean walks in and flicks on the light.

“I don’t need a bed,” Castiel points out, like always.

“I told you, Cas, you’re not sleeping in your car,” Dean replies, like always.

Castiel sighs as Dean moves into the room, dropping his bag by one of the beds. Dean rucks around in his bag before pulling out some clothes. “Here, change into these and gimme your suit. I’ll take it down to have it cleaned.”

Castiel takes the offered clothes. It’s a set of blue plaid pajamas. 

“Sam got those for you.” Dean doesn’t look at him. “He says hi, by the way.”

“Oh,” is all Castiel can manage before he remembers, “Tell him I said thank you.”

Dean grunts. Castiel feels something in him ache. He touches the soft material of the pajamas. Castiel has been away from the bunker and hunting on his own for almost a year now and Dean has been doing this for nearly as long, tracking him down when Castiel doesn’t return his voicemails as often as he likes, finding him so he can fuss and nitpick. There might have been a time when Castiel would have hated it, thought that Dean saw him as weak, but he knows Dean better than that now.

Jack had told Castiel what Dean was like when he was in the Empty, assured him that it wasn’t the same but it still made him and Sam worry. Castiel knows the shape of Dean’s grief - a blunt knife sinking slowly into the gut. It’s not quite the same as this - a fraying end of a rope brushing against his skin.

“You look tired,” Castiel says softly.

Dean doesn’t miss a beat. “Washington’s a long drive. Just need a few hours of shut-eye.”

The rest of the night feels normal enough. Dean looks amused when Castiel changes into the clothes and hands Dean his rumpled suit reluctantly. He brings dinner back to the room - burgers - and they eat while watching a movie on TV, Dean explaining the jokes before Castiel can ask. They don’t talk about anything of substance. They’re quiet as they lie down in their beds, turn off the light. Castiel stares up at the ceiling, eyes idly tracking the popcorn patterns, feeling odd in the soft pajamas.

He can feel Dean’s gaze. This strange chase has been going on for almost a year, but Dean has never asked him why he left, why he won’t stay with them at the bunker, why he has to be on his own. Not that Castiel would tell him, anyway. Tomorrow morning, Dean will drive back to the bunker and Castiel will move on to his next hunt and in another month or so, Castiel will see Dean walk into another sheriff’s office or another morgue like he was always supposed to be there.

He thought this would make things easier, prepare him for what would eventually come, that the distance might make it hurt less, but no matter where he goes, he finds himself back here, staring at the shadows and Dean’s eyes in the darkness, thinking about inevitability.

 

-

 

Castiel always comes here after he sees Dean. He used to linger in places like these, high mountaintops where the air is cold and crisp, where all is quiet but the wind. He used to think it was because they made him feel closer to Heaven, reminded him of his purpose. Things like this, the sun rising on the horizon, the way its light washes the world below in a deep orange glow, captivated him. It was like looking at a snowglobe where a beautiful, faraway place stayed suspended in the glass.

He feels that pull again. Sunspots burst in his vision, but Castiel keeps his gaze on the horizon, watching even as the sun sets behind the mountain ridge, as night falls, filling the sky with lights of stars long faded. Another day has passed in the blink of an eye.

The Empty told him he would come for him when he allowed himself to be happy. There was a time when this would have been enough. He used to be the kind of angel who could be content with something as simple as peace, but he isn’t. Not anymore.

 

-

 

“Cas -”

Everything is too dark, too bright. Too slow, too fast. Something is roaring in his ears - a familiar noise, so familiar he must know it, he _knows_ he knows it but he just can’t _think_ -

“ - hey, stay with me, buddy - “

Pain lances through his body. Castiel can taste it, electric and bitter on his teeth. His mind races, trying to ignore the rolling waves of agony, to find something concrete, something to tether his consciousness. He thinks about time. He thinks - it has been one year, one month, three days, fifteen hours, 47 minutes, 20 seconds, since he left the bunker. It has been three days, seven hours, 25 minutes, 52 seconds since he last called Jack. It has been two months, five hours, 10 minutes, 17 seconds, since he last saw Dean in Galena, Illinois.

“ - don’t care if we need to get her on a goddamn helicopter, Sam, just _get her_ -”

He remembers - he was tracking a witch. He remembers a room full of voices, a sea of rising murmurs echoing in his head, making everything fuzzy around the edges. Remembers the feeling of his soul slowly being pulled away - even now, he struggles to keep it attached, like wearing an ill-fitting coat in a hurricane, fighting to wrap it tight around his body. He remembers a phantom wind, a whisper, remembers -

Relief. Soft grass in the sun, leaves sinking in clear water -

“You’re gonna be okay, Cas. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Castiel twitches and moans as he loses track, shaking, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. It’s too abstract. He thinks about geometry. Parallel lines, a static distance between two points. Asymptotes, distance closing infinitely. He thinks about physics. Two objects moving in one direction. Distance.

He gasps as he seizes a moment of clarity, his eyes flying wide as all of his senses kick in at once. It is night, headlights strobing past like shooting stars, he is in the Impala, the growl of the engine loud as Dean, beside him, drives with his foot on the gas and doesn’t let up, his green eyes flashing every time a light passes, and Castiel squeezes his eyes shut as it all starts slipping away again and he grasps -

One object orbiting another. No, two objects moving toward one another. There is a point between two objects moving toward one another where nothing else matters, where gravity takes over and closes the final distance. Everything returns to its origin. He thinks about the difference between where his soul goes, where it needs to go, and where it goes regardless. He thinks about inevitability.

“No, it’s not,” he croaks, delirious through the haze of pain, and Dean’s hand, cold and clammy, wraps tight around his wrist.

 

-

 

For the first time in over a year, Castiel wakes up somewhere familiar. It’s strange, feeling anxious and comforted at the same time by the way his power is dampened in the bunker. Still, he tests out his grace; it moves like a sore limb, its nerves still struggling, but at least it no longer feels like it’s hanging by a thread.

“Hello, Castiel.” Castiel turns toward the voice to see Rowena sitting beside him serenely, a book on her lap. “Ah, good. Looks like you’re already getting better. You gave us quite a scare.”

Castiel looks around the room. He’s in the room he was given in the bunker. It hasn’t changed.

“Cozy,” Rowena remarks, glancing around as well. “I had heard you decided to strike it out on your own.”

He tries to sit up but Rowena stops him with a gentle press on his shoulder; it’s enough to keep him down. “Where’s Dean?”

Rowena purses her lips. “I put him to sleep.”

“You what?”

She waves a flippant hand. “He was fretting, made it impossible for me to focus on undoing all the spells that were thrown at you. So I just let him have a lie down. Believe me, it was for his own good. He looked ready to fall asleep standing.”

Castiel relaxes a little, his anxiety ebbing away. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “And for saving me, too.”

She smiles. “Oh, it was hardly any trouble. You’re just lucky you ran into a coven of amateurs. A lofty goal, stealing the soul and grace of an angel.” She cocks her head. “Though they were almost successful.”

Castiel knows the look in Rowena’s eyes. He wants to turn away, ashamed.

“Oh, Castiel,” she sighs knowingly. “When are you boys going to sort this out?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, suddenly too tired to talk. He closes his eyes and lets himself pass out.

 

-

 

When he comes to again, it’s Dean sitting by his bed. He still looks tired, but seems to be otherwise unharmed. Castiel stopped having to look for Dean’s soul a long time ago; he knows it as well as his own. It moves like water, changing as Dean does. Castiel feels it now, anxious and raw like sandpaper against his own.

Dean startles when he sees Castiel open his eyes. “Cas,” he breathes, jumping to his feet, hovering, before sitting back down and scooting his chair closer. Castiel tries not to shiver as the feeling softens into a warm bloom of relief. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Castiel answers, trying for something lighthearted. Dean manages a small smile. It’s enough. “Are you hurt?”

Dean shakes his head. “Witch-killing bullets made quick work of ‘em. Rowena said to watch you for a few days and make sure nothing weird happens.”

“Okay,” Castiel says, because he’s not really in a position to argue anyway, and tries not to dwell on how pleased Dean feels about his reply.

Dean fidgets a little. “Sam and Jack were on a hunt, but they’re on the way back now,” he blurts. “They’ll um, they’ll be happy to see you.”

“I’ll be happy to see them too.” Castiel looks at Dean. “Thank you for saving me.”

Guilt like a knife sliding across skin. Dean smiles tightly. “Just lucky I got there in time.”

Castiel thought that after everything was over, after they had beaten Michael and Lucifer and saved the world, they would learn how to stop breaking each other like this. There’s already enough guilt between the two of them, but no matter how far he tries to run, they still find ways to add to it, another drop in what is already an ocean. It had been a year of messages, of Dean saying _you know you can always talk to me_ but never asking, of Castiel saying _I know_ but never telling.

Silence settles between them, as it always does, even though there is so much to say. 

 

-

 

Sam nearly snaps Castiel in half with the force of his hug when he sees him again. Jack is a little gentler, but not by much. They celebrate as they do these days, by doing nothing but eating, watching movies, and mostly napping. Sam asks Castiel how he’s doing, about how his hunts have been going, and Castiel tells him, trying not to think about how quiet Dean is beside him.

Once Castiel fully recovers, Dean asks him if he wants to go on a hunt. He does, so he goes. Then he goes on another. And another.

It feels like the way it was before, the four of them piling into the Impala and heading out. They get the one motel room, with a sofa bed or a rollaway for Jack, an armchair for Castiel so he can “brood in the dark”. It feels enough like being a family, spending hours at a time in the car, getting trapped in a musty basement of a haunted house, fighting monsters and then cramming into a diner booth afterwards for a celebratory meal. Absent of any worldly catastrophes or dark insidious forces waiting to strike, their lives and conversations settle on more mundane things - well, as mundane as they can get, with Sam explaining the lore of the creature they just hunted, Jack nodding along in rapt attention, Dean stealing fries off of Castiel’s plate until Castiel finally just gives him the whole thing. Moments like that used to be just that - moments. It’s a foreign concept to them, to have this kind of happiness last, to be able to hold it and not have to let go. To be able to just live for the sake of living. 

As permanent as it feels, Castiel knows it is not meant for him. 

 

-

 

The bunker is mostly dark as Castiel pushes open the door, descending the stairs quietly. There are a few lamps still on, books both stacked and strewn all over the long table. It’s late, around 2 in the morning. Walking down the hallway to the rooms, Castiel passes Jack’s room. He reaches out with his grace and finds Jack sleeping fitfully; Castiel doesn’t want to wake him, so he soothes Jack’s thoughts - _I’m here_ \- and waits until Jack settles into a calm slumber before retiring to his own room.

Once in his room, Castiel takes off his trench coat and hangs it on the back of the desk chair. He still doesn’t have many belongings - he has a few cards from Claire, a small stack of books on his desk, found his extra clothes hanging neatly in the closet, his duffel bag stuffed in the corner of it. His blue plaid pajamas are in the top drawer of his cabinet. He’s trying to make a habit of wearing it at night ever since Dean told him it felt weird wearing a bathrobe around the bunker while he was still in his suit and coat. It feels a little ridiculous, but to be honest, he likes them. They’re comfortable. Better than wearing his regular clothes or even just a shirt and underwear to sleep, it has a specific function. For all the disorder of humanity, this is something that makes sense, something he can understand.

But this, having a space of his own, is still something he isn’t quite used to.

A knock on his door interrupts his thoughts. Castiel turns around to see Dean standing in the doorway.

“Didn’t think I’d catch you sneaking in?” Dean says wryly, arms crossed over his chest.

Castiel tugs on the knot of his tie. “I didn’t want to wake anyone.”

Dean leans against the doorjamb, nodding slowly. He’s wearing an expression Castiel knows well - mild suspicion - but it’s diminished by his bathrobe, hastily thrown on and hanging off one shoulder, and the fact that his hair is disheveled, flat on one side. Castiel doesn’t know how Dean can be such a light and deep sleeper at the same time. “How was your trip?”

Castiel looks away, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it over his trench coat. Thoughts swirl around in his head and he promptly empties it. “Good.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Around,” he answers nebulously as he takes the pajamas from the drawer and sets it on the bed. He had only gone out to clear his head. He doesn’t feel like explaining himself even though he knows Dean worries that he might try and leave again; he can’t say it’s not unfounded. 

Dean, oddly enough, doesn’t push it. Instead, he says, “Look, I get it. We all got days when we wanna be alone.”

Castiel doesn’t reply, just pulls off his tie. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him as he unbuttons his shirt; when he glances at Dean, Dean glances away.

“Sam gets them, you know I do too.” Dean chuckles. “We’ve even had Jack run off a few times on his own, it would’ve driven you nuts if you -”

Dean trails off when Castiel’s belt clatters as it hits the floor, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Castiel remains silent as he finishes dressing, waiting for Dean to get at what he really wants to say. 

“Cas.”

Against his better judgment, Castiel meets Dean’s gaze, open and vulnerable.

“Promise me you won’t leave like you did before again,” Dean whispers. “Please.”

For weeks, Castiel prepared for a lecture, even an argument, a demand for an explanation as to why he left, but not this. Not a plea. Not sorrow so profound it feels like a vice around his heart, a longing that sinks into his bones like lead. He can’t tell Dean the truth, that he ran, hoping to find an end that might hurt less than what was promised to him. He doesn’t know how to tell Dean that he can’t stay, not the way he wants, but it was already hard enough leaving the first time and he’s not strong enough to do it again. His head is at odds with his heart. He wants so badly to live, to stay, even if it means pretending that everything is okay.

“I promise,” Castiel whispers, even though he knows he can’t, like saying it out loud might make it possible.

At the end of the world, he wrote himself into a story where he didn’t belong. He must be a mistake the universe has been trying to correct, but maybe it is a mercy that it is still deciding which one is wrong, the staying or the leaving.

 

-

 

The days pass, just like that.

They still hunt like they did before, but there is less urgency to it now. Today, they have stopped by a lake on the way back from a hunt. Dean told him he and Sam used to stop here when they could, just to relax for a little while between hunts. It’s a beautiful place, surrounded by trees. In the sunlight, the water’s surface shimmers like a million silver scales. Castiel watches Dean and Jack standing on the shore of the lake from where he’s leaning against the Impala with Sam, smiling a little as Jack tries to skip a rock across the water. He realizes idly that he’s seen this place before. Dean has dreamed about it before.

“Been a long time since things have been like this,” Sam tells him. He’s looking out at the lake, his shoulders relaxed, expression calm. 

“I can imagine.”

“It feels weird, y’know? Like we spent so much time being wound up, waiting for something to happen, but nothing ever showed up.”

Castiel hums. He understands the feeling. His restlessness hasn’t faded, but he has learned to live with it. That is one of the good things about not being alone - it supplies many distractions.

Sam casts him a sidelong glance. “You know I thought you might’ve gone to Heaven.”

In the distance, Dean laughs, warm and bright, as Jack sinks another rock into the lake. A leaf shakes from its branch, floating with the wind until it hits the lake, sinking into the water. Castiel hasn’t thought about Heaven in a long time. “I haven’t been back there in a while,” he says. Not since that day.

Sam grins at him. “So you’ve decided it’s better down here?”

Castiel manages a small smile. “It is,” he answers and it’s the truth. “I can watch over the three of you here.”

Silence hangs between them for a few moments before Sam speaks. “You’re our family, Cas. We want you here with us, but more than that, we want you to be happy.” Something like sadness flashes across Sam’s face. “It’s okay to want something for yourself.”

The both of them look toward the lake upon hearing a cry. Jack waves his arms at them, yelling _did you guys see that, I did it!_ After a moment, Sam laughs and shouts back for Jack to do it again. Dean stands beside Jack, shaking his head but smiling proudly. Castiel can’t help but smile too, feeling the warmth of their joy. Some days, he can convince himself he could live like this. If he was careful, this could be his life, living with the Winchesters, watching Jack grow up, doing some good in the world in the only way he knows. He is an anomaly, an angel broken in ways no one understands, but somehow he has found a place where he fits, a family that forgives him, accepts him for what he is. He can have more than what he ever thought he could have.

When he catches Dean’s gaze, Dean’s smile softens, his soul flaring, burning slow, familiar, cautious against his.

_It’s okay to want something for yourself._

But the truth is, Castiel always knew what he was running from.

 

-

 

This was how it started.

Before all of this, Castiel had lived millenia in Heaven. Angels were made to protect Heaven, to follow the orders of God and Castiel was a loyal soldier, dedicated to the cause. He was curious too, intrigued by his Father’s creations, by Earth and the distant heavens inhabited by human souls.

He had thought nothing of the order to retrieve Dean Winchester’s soul from Hell. He remembers all the preparations they made for his retrieval and resurrection. Everything had to be right; he knew the placement of every freckle across Dean’s nose, every scar and marking on his skin, knew the color of his hair, his eyes. He knew what the angels told him, that Dean Winchester was the righteous man, that he was destined to prevent the breaking of the seals, that he loved his brother and obeyed his father above all else, and Castiel thought that meant he understood him.

Castiel remembers fighting down to Hell, his brothers and sisters clearing the path. He remembers seeing Dean for the first time. The angels told him Dean Winchester would follow him without question because every human wished to be saved.

“This is where I belong,” Dean had instead said to him, his feet rooted where he stood. He held a knife in his bloodstained hands. His eyes were hard as coals, nearly as black.

Every part of him should have felt repulsed, looking at the corrupted figure of God’s creation, but he made a choice. He put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and held him close as he took him away from Hell. Castiel put Dean back together, thinking about the colors he had seen during his brief visits to Earth, so different from the sterile white halls where he and the angels lived, and watched those colors come alive, brown turning to golden straw, green turning to grass, leaves. The angels tell him he was lost the moment he touched Dean Winchester. Humans are flawed, imperfect, they had warned, and it was true - he saw darkness in Dean, the heavy cast of guilt, the sins he had committed in the years that had passed in Hell. He saw Dean’s life, the pain he had endured, the sacrifices he made, and it amazed him that somehow underneath it all there was still kindness, hope, a soul, vibrant and beautiful. Castiel watched him pull himself out of the ground, watched him struggle, watched him fight despite his burden. 

Dean Winchester was broken, but Castiel thought he was perfect. Angels were not meant to understand the poetry of it, how things could change through the filter of love. They were not meant to feel desire, but Castiel looked at Dean, a fire unlike hell or holy fire stirring in his soul, and found himself doing just that.

 

-

 

“You’re gonna have to learn how to cook something without burning it eventually, Cas.”

Castiel scrubs studiously at the burnt pan, wrinkling his nose when a soap sud lands on his nose. “You and Sam handle it well enough,” he mumbles before he sighs when Dean glares at him. “I know. Teamwork um, makes dreams come true.” He thinks it over again when Dean raises his eyebrows. “Teamwork makes…,” he racks his brain before he remembers _rhymes_ , “the dream work.”

“There it is,” Dean says triumphantly. He reaches over and dabs the tip of Castiel’s nose with the corner of the dishtowel. “Hey, if you can learn that, you can learn how to cook.”

Castiel smiles, pleased that the burnt parts are finally coming off of the pan and with the soft velvet feeling of fondness. He hands Dean the cleaned pan and then notices a band-aid wrapped around Dean’s finger and frowns. “When did that happen?”

Dean follows his gaze. “Oh, just cut it earlier chopping onions. No big deal -” 

Without another thought, Castiel puts his hand on Dean’s and heals it.

“Thanks,” Dean murmurs, pulling off the band-aid and running a finger over the freshly healed skin. “Jeez, Cas, I know you’re an angel but you don’t have to waste your grace on small stuff like this.”

“It’s not a waste. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Dean blinks at him, then takes the cleaned pan from Castiel to dry. He glows a little; sincerity does that to him. “You say that now but just wait ‘til I’m an old man asking you to heal my lumbago,” he jokes.

Castiel stays quiet, scrubbing quietly at an nonexistent spot on a plate. Dean falls silent too, thoughtful.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s time for us to hang up the hat,” Dean eventually says.

“‘Hang up the hat’,” Castiel repeats absently, his brow furrowing.

Dean laughs a little. “Retire. From hunting,” he explains, his eyes flitting to Castiel’s.

For a long time, Castiel didn’t understand why Dean’s prayers would pull on his grace, why all it started to take was a thought, a name, for him to look for him in the universe. He would feel it even when they stood only feet apart, even if they were angry, arguing, felt it all those nights Dean followed him and they watched each other from across the gap between their beds, the growing instinct to reach for each other, to lean closer, closer. He feels it now.

This is the danger that comes with peace: they feel safe enough to think about the future, to want things they couldn’t have before. Dean is different now; he has not forgiven himself, perhaps never will, but he is letting himself feel. He is letting himself experience the things he had pushed away before, things he didn’t allow himself because he needed to survive, needed to move on. 

This is the danger that comes with peace: Dean looks at him, hopeful, and for one terrible moment, Castiel feels the darkness looming over him like a passing shadow.

Castiel looks away. “Maybe one day,” he says distantly.

This is the danger that comes with peace: it makes Castiel want more than what he can have and having what he wants means everything will end. Every quiet moment, every brief touch, every longing look is an opportunity in another life, another kinder world, for Castiel to ask for the one thing he wants and for Dean to say yes, but not in this one. It aches, hurts more than any wound, to feel Dean falter, become a little more uncertain each time, thinking that Castiel does not want the same thing he wants.

This is what he was afraid of. It hurt to be apart from Dean, but this is how it will always be, them hurting each other, hurting themselves, if he keeps trying to stay.

 

-

 

“You know we would fight for you,” Jack says quietly. He sits on the edge of his bed, holding Castiel’s angel blade in his hands, his fingers running over the smooth metal.

“I don’t want you to,” Castiel says, sitting across from him. They have fought enough battles, made enough bad deals trying to find a way to stay together. He doesn’t want to know what it would take for him to stay. 

“My powers -,” Jack starts, then stops. Understands. “It’ll just come back for you again.”

Castiel keeps his gaze on the floor. He knows it hasn’t been fair to Jack, asking him to keep his deal with the Empty a secret from Sam and Dean. Jack has grown so much in the short time they’ve spent together, has gone through so much; he understands sacrifice, what has to be done for the greater good. Being a Winchester means understanding loss too, but not accepting it.

Jack looks at him, his eyes bright. “You don’t have to go. We could keep going like this, couldn’t we?”

He knows this is selfish. There is no great enemy to fight, no cause to sacrifice himself for. All he can say is, “There is more to living than living forever.”

If Castiel ever had a purpose, maybe it is this: to bargain, to die and come back again and again, until all that’s left is this. This is the last thing threatening their peace, the last debt left to settle. All it will take is one final death for it to be over for good. This is how they move on to something better.

This is how he ends everything on his terms.

 

-

 

Castiel used to watch Dean sleep, waiting for him to wake. A part of him wanted Dean to have his peace while he could, even if it was only a few minutes more, but the truth was that he wanted to see what Dean would do. It intrigued him, the way Dean would wake and find his gaze, his own untrusting, yet still walk toward him, his body moving with purpose. Maybe he wanted to see if Dean was drawn to him the same way he was to him. Two objects, moving toward one another.

Even now, when Castiel stands outside Dean’s door, hesitant, he wonders if this is as certain as gravity.

The door opens before Castiel can even start thinking about knocking. Dean doesn’t look surprised to see him. Castiel startles, saying, “How did you -?”

Dean quirks a grin. “Saw your shadow. Only you would stand there for five minutes without doing anything,” he says, his voice a little rough from sleep. Before Castiel can ask, Dean’s already turning around to walk back to his bed, scratching his neck, as if expecting Castiel to follow.

He does, closing the door behind him.

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed. He just yawns when Castiel sits beside him, their knees bumping. This is what they’ve always preferred, though they’ve never said it out loud, sitting side by side when they can. It’s something about distance, comfort passing between them like the sleep-warmth of Dean’s body. Sometimes it was easier too, not having to look each other in the eyes.

Castiel puts his hands on his lap, clasps them together. He thinks about beautiful things, seemingly close but unattainable. 

“So what’s on your mind?”

 _Many things_ , Castiel thinks, though he finds himself unable to latch onto a single thought. He doesn’t know how to start something like this. He starts with a truth. “I showed you once that there are things destined to happen, no matter how hard you try to avert them,” he says, calm, but his voice still wavers.

He can feel Dean’s gaze on him, but he can’t look at him now, not yet. Not if he is to see this through.

“Angels don’t have destinies,” he tells him. Another truth. Angels have orders and duties, but none of them are destined for anything. Lucifer’s fall was not fated. It was a choice. “But we have rules. We are bound by our nature.”

“I thought we tossed the rulebook out a long time ago,” Dean jokes, but his voice is tight. His back is a tense line, a drawn bow. He knows something is coming.

“There is a place where angels go after they die.”

There’s no going back from this.

“The thing that rules it tried to take Jack so I made a deal,” Castiel finally admits, so quietly he hardly hears himself. “I promised to take his place instead.”

Dean is dead silent, but Castiel feels a sharp cold run right through him. The bed creaks. Castiel doesn’t want to look at him, but he forces himself to; Dean’s head is bowed, a white-knuckled fist pressed against his mouth. Fear before it’s stifled by a grim determination. Hope, despite everything.

“Okay so what’s the plan?” Dean finally says. He holds his palms out when Castiel doesn’t answer. “That’s why you’re telling me, right? Because you have a plan to fight this.”

“I -,” Castiel falters, his voice catching in his throat. His heart sinks with dread; Dean is still thinking of ways to save him. “There is no plan.”

“We’ll think of one then. You just have to tell us when this thing is gonna come, what you know -”

“It can’t be fought, not in the way you think -”

Dean suddenly stands and starts to pace, but he doesn’t let up, continues with an edge of desperation, “You got out before, Cas. Jack got you out so that means there’s a way, we can -”

“I won’t let you risk your lives again. We’ve gone on years now without something coming after us,” Castiel says softly, standing. “I’ve been watching and waiting, making sure that there is nothing else to fight.” He meets Dean’s hard gaze. “All it wants is for me to go back to a place I was never meant to escape. That’s all. This is a mercy.”

Dean stares at him uncomprehendingly. “A mercy?” He echoes. “You, dying? That’s supposed to be a mercy? Jesus, that’s some bullshit, even for you.”

“Dean -”

“We said we would face these things together,” Dean says, his voice rising. “We said we would believe in each other - now you’re telling me you’re just going to give up? You’re just going to wait for this thing to take you?”

For a moment, Castiel hesitates. Underneath the pain, Dean’s soul pulls on his, not wanting to let go, but he knows this will not last. There is no destiny holding them together. Dean will forget him, in time, and that comforts him, gives him the strength to say it.

“No,” Castiel answers. “I’m going to make sure it does.”

Dean’s expression falls. “What?”

He tells himself, this is not written. “We can’t keep going on like this, Dean,” he whispers.

This is what he can do for Dean, the kindest thing. They have kept their goodbyes for long enough, as if hoping that will keep each other alive, as if never writing an ending meant a story could never end. Absent of destiny and duty, the only thing keeping them together is this shapeless desire, moving like bullets hitting a target but never the bullseye. This is the last thing keeping him here. 

“I’ve thought about it every day. I thought I could leave, but you chased after me. Then I thought I could stay like this, always wanting but never having, but it would have kept going on like this, me hurting you. I can live with many things, even you resenting me, but I can’t live without you knowing the truth. It’s not a way to live. It’s not fair to you, to either of us.” Castiel’s voice is hoarse, catching in his throat, but he keeps going. “There will always be a distance between us, but if this means closing it, just once, I will take it. I don’t want you to wonder anymore. Even if it means that you have to let me go.”

They need a resolution, an ending, even if it’s not the one they want. This way, Castiel can give him this - closure, confirmation.

This way, Dean can know for sure.

Realizing what he’s saying, Dean slowly shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Dean -”

“ _I can’t_ ,” Dean repeats. His voice is unsteady. “Not you, Cas. I waited -,” his breath hitches and he stops.

They never had the time. Castiel reaches for Dean, takes his clenched fist and unravels it, and in one breath, all of the fight leaves him, Dean’s hand closing tight around his. He understands, even in the end. They were not made to have a gentle love, never ready for it, and for a long time, Dean only believed in something’s existence if it could be seen, tangibly felt. That meant sacrifice - it meant leaving, meant hurting and pushing each other away but never letting go. It used to be enough, knowing something by its absence. They loved each other in all of the wrong ways, but right now, they can do it right for the first and last time.

He touches Dean’s cheek. Dean finally meets his gaze. Even in the dim light, Dean’s eyes are beautiful. Soft grass in the sun. Leaves sinking in clear water.

“I used to think I found everything I loved about the world in one person,” Castiel confesses, his voice wavering. He feels something wet trickle down his face. “But I realized that I was wrong. I found everything I love about you in the world. You should have been nothing but stardust to me, but you became everything.”

He feels that fire, tempered with an indescribable grief, grief unlike pain but emptiness. Dean holds his hand like it’s a lifeline, tears in his eyes. “Cas, I can’t just -”

The shadow is coming for him, but he fights for as long as he can, wants to be able to have this for as long as he can. Castiel shakes his head. “Just promise me, Dean. Promise me you’ll live the rest of your life without making any more deals. Promise me you’ll look after Jack. Promise me,” he breathes sharply, forcing himself to say it, “you’ll find someone else. Someone who can do what I can’t. Someone who can love you and stay.”

The tears that have been threatening to fall finally do. “No,” Dean chokes out, clutching him by the lapels of his coat. “No, Cas. It’s only ever gonna be you.”

It should be enough. His time on Earth passes in an instant in his infinite memory, but Castiel remembers it all with perfect clarity, every moment he’s spent with Dean, every word, every look, every touch passed between them. He should feel lucky to have had this.

What a beautiful, terrible thing it is to be in love, to finally have everything and still want for more. 

 

-

 

He dreams of Castiel. He dreams of him often, but the dream always changes. Sometimes, Castiel lingers on the edges, content to stand beside him on a fishing dock or in the passenger seat of the Impala; sometimes, he shows up, bloody and beaten, his blue eyes gazing at him blamelessly. He used to dream of him dying all of the time before Castiel finally came back to the bunker.

When Dean wakes up in his bed, for a moment, he almost thinks it’s another dream.

The first person he sees is Jack, sitting outside by his door, his eyes red-rimmed. Apologies are already running out of his mouth - _I’m sorry, I can’t find him, I kept telling him we should tell you, that we would fight for him, I tried looking for ways to save him, even tried to take his place but I couldn’t figure it out, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ \- but Dean just drops down beside him and holds him, lets Jack sob into his shoulder, the way he should have the last time they lost Castiel instead of blaming him. He’s still holding him when Sam comes running and all it takes is a look for him to know.

There’s no body for them to burn this time. No one brings up emptying Castiel’s room. 

Then, the days pass, just like that.

Nothing comes after them. Everything stays the same, but the grief. Dean used to move past it like a spirit that could not be chased away, but he doesn’t this time. Castiel was right, in more ways than one. It’s different, knowing where he stood after all. Maybe it was obvious from the start, but it was unfathomable, the weight of it, the idea of an angel who would do anything for him - who did do everything for him. Castiel gave up his own life, one last time, so that they wouldn’t have to fight again, so that he could end the vicious cycle that led them to constantly sacrifice themselves for each other.

On the nights he can’t sleep, he drives. He stops when he feels like it, leans against the hood of the Impala and looks up at the sky. A flash of light shoots across the sky and he thinks of Castiel, smiles. Dean keeps his promise. He doesn’t think about bargains. He thinks about Castiel every day, prays to him instead. He tells him the things he wishes he could have told him, the things he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud, not even at the end. 

Maybe there is an order to the world. Maybe they weren’t meant to stay together. After all, Castiel was an angel, otherworldly in nearly every way, but still Dean thinks about the empty spaces where Castiel used to be and wonders if they ever had a chance.

 

-

 

“ - describes a place called Sheol, a place where both the righteous and unrighteous go. We have Heaven and Hell, monsters have Purgatory, so that must be for angels and demons, right?”

Dean idly flips through a book while Jack passes a heavy book to Sam.

“Wait, I think…” Sam furrows his brow and looks around at his pile of books. “I think it’s mentioned in the Bible too. I mean, not literally, but there’s some scholars who believe death and Sheol to be interchangeable in some contexts -”

The two of them mumble back and forth, barely noticing when Dean stands and leaves the room. Walking into the kitchen, he grabs a beer from the fridge, leaning heavily against the counter as he drinks. It’s been half a year since they lost Castiel. Sam and Jack are still looking for a way to bring him back. Dean helps, if only to make sure they don’t try to do anything reckless. He doesn’t stop them, even though he knows better, even though it feels like he’s giving himself false hope. After all, nothing is given without a price.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns around to see Billie standing on the other side of the counter. His blood runs cold as she smiles, her eyes unreadable. “Billie,” he returns evenly. “I’d say it’s nice to see you but, y’know.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to reap any of you today,” Billie reassures him. “Just thought I’d stop by.”

Death doesn’t make social calls. “Right.”

Billie looks around, her fingers tapping against the stainless steel counter. “How have you been?” She asks amicably.

Dean rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have the patience for this. “Cut the crap, Billie. What are you doing here?”

Billie drops the pretenses and glances at him. “I heard you were looking into the Empty.”

Dean watches her carefully. She betrays nothing. “Yeah.” Then he says, “I remember you said you’d throw me in there once.”

“I did,” she confirms, nodding like it was a fond memory. “You know, it’s peaceful there. Not like Heaven or Hell - in the Empty, you just sleep. You don’t even know you’re sleeping. That’s how it keeps you.” 

Dean huffs a laugh. “Sleep, huh? Sounds like a pretty good deal.”

“Does it?”

She turns her gaze on him, curious, and Dean looks away. There’s still a part of him that longs for punishment, to feel anything other than guilt and loneliness, but he remembers the promise he made, the things Castiel said. He misses Castiel but senseless suffering isn’t going to bring him back.

Dean picks up his beer and takes another drink. “No,” he says. It feels true.

“Oh.” Billie hums. “So that’s what’s new.”

“What?”

Billie cocks her head. “You want to live. That’s different.”

“So what? Things change.”

“That they do, that they do,” Billie agrees, nodding. She casts him a sidelong glance when Dean stares at her. “You don’t realize what that means, do you?”

Annoyed with her cryptic responses, Dean throws his arms out. “I still don’t even know why you’re here.”

Billie faces him, lifting her chin. Anticipation prickles on his skin. “Your fates have changed. They’re changing right this moment. I found myself curious as to why.”

Dean furrows his brow. “I thought you already know all the ways I die.”

“Let me tell you a secret,” she says, leaning forward. “I don’t.”

He doesn’t understand. Billie must see the confusion on his face.

“Think of it like,” she thinks for a moment and then smiles to herself, “you’re driving a car on a road. You have an idea of where you’re going, but you’re not sure. I could tell you every place you will drive past, where you could end up and how you get there. I could tell you about the obstacles ahead, all of the ways it could go wrong, the ways it could go right. But this is the gift you have: you are the one holding the wheel. I don’t know all of the ways something might change you. Maybe you decide to turn, little by little. An odd turn, here or there, but you still stay on the same road. Or maybe, against all reason, you drive off the road you’ve been driving on for years. Maybe you crash. Maybe you keep driving. Maybe you find another road, a new set of destinations.”

Billie looks him in the eyes and Dean realizes his heart is pounding.

“You were a broken man, Dean, set on a certain path, but something made you want to turn the wheel. Go somewhere different.” She smiles, small but almost genuinely. “Now I know, little by little, without you or me noticing, something has fixed you.”

She is gone before he can ask, but he doesn’t need to. He’s seen those paths. There were worlds where they made different choices, where he and Sam fell apart and failed. There were worlds where there were different versions of them, where Castiel became other versions of Castiel, cruel, lonely, angry, but never became _Cas_. All this time, Dean thought this was another world where he failed again, where he didn’t fight hard enough, but maybe it isn’t. He hasn’t given up, not yet.

Maybe, against all odds, this is the world where they are enough.

 

-

 

_Hey, Cas. Sam says hi. I told him to just pray on his own but he seems pretty sure you won’t hear him. I think he’s still a little annoyed about the whole “profound bond” thing. I keep telling him it’s nothing personal._

 

-

 

_Jack killed his first wendigo today. We lost track of him in the woods for a while - Sam nearly had a heart attack - but then the kid just came out of the woods covering in blood with a big grin on his face. Good thing no one else was around ‘cause they would’ve thought he was a serial killer. You’d be proud._

 

-

 

_Hope you’re okay, Cas. I know you sleep there. Wonder if you dream too._

 

-

 

**I thought it was a fluke.**

 

-

 

_Hey, Cas. Nothing much to say. Took the day off to rest but we’ll be back on the road tomorrow. Jack’s gonna be doing the driving, all the way to Maine. We’re taking your car._

 

-

 

_We saw Claire today. Told her what happened. It was hard but I told her to have faith in you. Can you believe that? Me, telling someone to have faith. When you come back, I’ll even let you say “I told you so”._

 

-

 

_Movie night sucks without you, Cas. Jack’s starting to understand jokes, but it turns out I really like explaining them._

 

-

 

_I miss you._

 

-

 

_Cas._

_I wonder if this is working._

**You can stop faking now.**

Darkness. All he sees is endless darkness. Castiel moves, jilted, like he’s still getting used to his body. He can see his hand in front of his face. He sits up, shaking off the vestiges of sleep.

“I’m awake,” Castiel says out loud, his voice hoarse from disuse, disbelieving. He thinks he hears a snort.

**Nothing gets past you, does it?**

_Gotta admit, sometimes it feels like I’m throwing messages in bottles into the ocean. Maybe you’ll get all my prayers at once. Sorry._

Castiel slowly gets to his feet. That’s Dean’s voice, faint as static coming through a radio in between frequencies. “Am I -”

**No, it’s not a dream. You don’t dream down here.**

He’s not supposed to be awake either, but he is. The Empty sounds exhausted. “How is he doing this?”

The Empty is silent for a few moments. **He’s been at it for over a year now, every day.** A non-answer. **I didn’t think he’d be this persistent. Humans usually aren’t.**

Over a year. 

_I think about what you told me every day. About destiny._

**Things like you were not meant to have attachments.**

Castiel looks into the yawning emptiness. Dean must be so far away, but Castiel swears he can almost feel it again, that pull on his soul.

_The thing is, destiny was always the easy way. It was always fighting it that was hard. Guess it’s only right that nothing about us has been easy._

**There was a story the humans wrote down once, about love saving someone.**

“There are many stories like that,” Castiel says absently, trying to listen for the sound of Dean’s voice.

**This one was different, considering where it was written. It was a story about a human who called out to her beloved, about love that was as strong as death. Funny how they always thought it was about God’s love.**

Castiel knows this story. 

**Stories like that have power.**

He thinks about the way Dean holds fast to him even now, his wholehearted devotion too heavy to be carried by anyone else. Something like hope sparks in his chest. “What kind of power?” Castiel whispers.

**Human love is noisy. Fleeting at times, incessant at others. Above all else, irrational. Clings like a bad smell and doesn’t follow any rules.**

Castiel thinks of that time, years ago, when he went down to Hell to retrieve a human who thought he didn’t deserve to be saved. He thinks about all the times he fell, only to be picked up once more.

_To hell with destiny, fate, whatever. I’m not giving up on you. I want you here, Cas._

**I’m tired. Go.**

Castiel blinks, looks around. “You’re letting me leave?”

**You don’t want to?**

“Not if it means you’ll come for me again.”

**Rest assured. I cannot hold you the way you are now. Nothing loved has ever ended up here. Not until you.**

 

-

 

Standing back in Dean’s room, Castiel thought he knew how this was supposed to end.

Dean is sitting at his desk. Castiel stares at the back of his head, his heart pressing against his throat. He doesn’t know if this is real, too afraid to speak, too afraid it might break the illusion. 

Dean’s head moves, like he senses something, before he turns around. His eyes widen; in the next moment, his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s.

“Cas?” Dean breathes, stepping toward him but stopping just short. Uncertain. His soul stirs, finds his like it’s coming home. This is real.

“Dean,” Castiel says, his voice cracking. “I heard you.”

Between the two of them is years of leaving, returning, moving toward one another regardless. Maybe this was not about destiny or inevitability. Maybe this has just been them, choosing each other again and again, even when it seemed impossible.

Dean touches the lapels of Castiel’s trenchcoat, letting out a quiet, shaky laugh as he clutches him tight, as he presses his forehead against Castiel’s. Castiel traces the line of his jaw, his stubble rough against the pads of his fingers, and looks up at the face he knows best. They love each other, their hearts lurching with the violence of it; Dean looks at him, the green of his eyes bright under the fan of his eyelashes, and Castiel wants nothing more than to close the distance, finally, but they can wait for this. They deserve this, the time, for something soft. Love, like paradise, is something that must be built, so this must be what they have been doing all along, learning how to fix what breaks, how to make something that could weather this world so that they could survive long enough to have this.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and the story talked about in the Empty are references to The Song of Songs. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
